Most of my cats try to keep secret how high they can actually jump. Every jump is preceded by at least some time “figuring out” if they can jump that high, and they only ever “just barely make it”. Meanwhile, I’ve seen them at other times routinely making much higher jumps.
My first cat Hector was the worst for this. At the time I got him, I had one room in my basement that had nothing at all in it, but it had some windows that were about 5 feet off the ground. I came in one day to discover him sitting on the windowsill, looking out the window. When he heard me coming, he whipped his head around in the classic, “Oh, damn, he caught me!” kind of reaction. He really didn’t want me to know he could jump that high.
Later in life, he figured out how to get onto the roof of the house, which required an even bigger jump, probably from off the roof of the detached garage, but I never saw him make that actual jump. I was just stuck rescuing him off the roof, because he could never figure out the getting back down part.
Good jumper, not so good descender…
Linden is a Balinese. Also known as “the long haired Siamese” because the only difference between the two breeds is a gene for fur length. So as you can imagine, he’s not shy about talking.
Every weekday morning we go into my office and begin working at 8. And for 10 minutes between 8 and my daily 9am meeting, Linden yells. Then he’s a cuddly quiet boy until mid-afternoon when he may or may not complain that they’ve out-grown lunch for a few minutes.
After 16 months of this, I still don’t know why without fail he’s yelling in the morning. He’s feed, the litter boxes are clean, I check on their water, there’s comfortable sleeping spots to settle into in the office. What does he want while yelling at me??
I’m guessing attention or possibly for you to play with him.
Nope. Playing with him makes no difference in the amount of yelling, and he definitely doesn’t want to sit on my lap and be petted.
There’s a campaign going on for Emperor of the Cats; he’s running, and that’s his alloted time during which to make campaign speeches.
(The cats are more sensible than humans about this, so they arrange to take turns. There are usually lots of candidates, so it’s not surprising that he only gets ten minutes.)
– Maybe he objects to your going into the office? Maybe you’re sitting in his chair? but ten minutes is as much energy as he wants to put into his outrage on the subject.
Hestia’s biggest secret is exactly where it was that she threw up. You heard her pumping out her stomach, but it isn’t clear where it was.
And sometimes, just to screw with your head, she’ll throw up in multiple places.
And both she and Hermes have extra hiding places that we don’t know about. We can guess, but we’re never sure.